A sports comedy born from a short à la Ted Lasso, and with a story that used to be fit for a 95-minute theatrical film but has been stretched to fill out a multi-season TV series à la Stick, Chad Powers is an amiable affair that’s never actually funny.
That’s no fault of Glen Powell, who’s goofily charming as a football has-been intent on pulling a fast one on the country in order to return to the field. Yet it’s nonetheless a severe shortcoming of this six-part Hulu show, premiering Sept. 30, which fails to decide if it wants to be ribald or saccharine and winds up settling for somewhere in the milquetoast middle.
Its premise inspired by an Eli Manning viral video, Chad Powers stars Powell as Russ Holliday, whose ticket to the NFL was revoked when, as the quarterback for the University of Oregon, he blew the Rose Bowl in spectacular fashion and, to compound his humiliation, punched out the father of a wheelchair-bound, cancer-stricken fan on live television.
It was the flameout to top all flameouts, and years later, Russ is a joke who can’t escape his past. At a nightclub, his fortunes continue to plummet when he learns that he’s lost his shot at a pigskin comeback via the XFL, and is then told by the “hawk tuah” girl that she doesn’t want to be associated with him—a rock-bottom moment that he responds to with his usual defiant arrogance and jerkiness.
Russ has no interest in following in the footsteps of his Hollywood makeup-artist father Mike (Toby Huss), but he reluctantly agrees to drive a batch of prosthetics to the Fox studio lot for an upcoming Michael Bay blockbuster. There, the sight of a Mrs. Doubtfire poster, coupled with breaking news that South Georgia is holding open tryouts for a new quarterback, give him an inspired idea: He’ll disguise himself with the tricks of his dad’s trade and reclaim the gridiron glory he squandered years earlier.
This ruse, alas, doesn’t last for more than a minute, thanks to a run-in with Danny (Frankie A. Rodriguez), a student who works as the South Georgia Catfish’s mascot “Whiskers,” and who—upon outing Russ—decides to help him perpetrate this scheme for no reason other than the narrative demands it.
Russ and Danny’s partnership and growing friendship is contrived nonsense, although that’s in keeping with the generally silly tone. Forced on the spot to come up with an alter ego, Russ concocts Chad Powers, a southern-doofus persona to match his shaggy hair and big nose.
Whereas Russ is rude and selfish, Chad is kind and deferential, and he tolerates the mockery of the other QB candidates before showing off his amazing skills. Coach Jake Hudson (Steve Zahn) is practically over the moon about Chad’s canon of an arm and fancy footwork, as are his assistants Dobbs (Clayne Crawford) and Byrd (Quentin Plair). Even Jake’s former track-star daughter Ricky (Perry Mattfield) is impressed, this despite her frustration at having her ideas ignored by her superiors, who view her as a nepo-baby assistant mostly cut out to handle the team’s beverage needs.
Chad Powers rounds out its cast with Gerry (Colton Ryan), Chad’s super-religious competitor for the job, and Tricia (Wynn Everett), the blonde booster chair who functions as a more potty-mouthed variation on Hannah Waddingham’s Ted Lasso boss Rebecca Welton.
The series, however, doesn’t locate a comfortable tone for its ridiculousness. Created by Powell and Michael Waldron, it indulges in tepid and cheesy pro forma plot developments, with Chad slowly ingratiating himself with the team and growing closer to Ricky while struggling to maintain his disguise in the heat and around water (both of which pose challenges to its cohesion).
At the same time, it leans into R-rated profanity, most notably courtesy of Chad’s recurring woe-is-me talk about God “fisting” him. A defter hand might have successfully executed this cute-and-vulgar routine, but it doesn’t work here, resulting in humor that’s too tepid to elicit an eye roll.
Chad Powers occasionally hits the right notes, such as during a third episode in which Chad wins over Ricky by utilizing one of her plays—against Jake’s orders—to secure a miraculous win. More often than not, however, it’s a bland regurgitation of sports-movie clichés coupled with slapstick hijinks that refrain from genuine outrageousness.
Characters joke about whether Chad and Danny are gay, Ricky gradually begins warming to the kind QB, and the show has multiple characters give the protagonist advice about the possibility of transformation—his dad says, “You can’t change who you are,” while Ricky believes, “You get to decide who you are.” This all plays out with metronomic predictability, and devoid of gonzo flair, it’s more agreeable than amusing.
Looking good on the field (as does the rest of the cast), Powell proves adept at being an awful prick and a loveable sweetheart, and his performance is captivating enough to sustain Chad Powers through its more conventional patches. With a disarming smile and a demeanor that suggests he wants to be better than he is but doesn’t quite know how, the actor gets as close to rendering Russ/Chad a believable creation as the material will allow, and that goes some way toward making the proceedings pleasant.
Unfortunately, there’s a dearth of scenes, or gags, that take advantage of the leading man’s gift for absurdity, and the series’ attempts at generating rom-com sparks between him and Mattfield are largely in vain.
For the most part, Chad Powers runs familiar routes that drain it of surprise. Nonetheless, it manages to upend expectations with its finale, which eschews seemingly preordained resolutions in favor of a pricklier set-up for a second season. That means Powell and Waldron’s show might yet figure out a way to truly exploit its clownish conceit for laughs. For now, though, it’s merely another in a long line of comedy walk-ons struggling to make the big time.
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